


before midnight, after midnight

by screechfox



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Surprise Kissing, Vampires, look i actually finished a multi-chapter fic before posting it, parv is utterly incorrigible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-17 20:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screechfox/pseuds/screechfox
Summary: When Strife's self-control lapses, he's expecting consequences. Insults, violence, or even having to leave the bizarre comforts of Parv and his castle forever.But what he gets are consequences of a different kind, and he finds that he's much more okay with these.





	1. part 1

**Author's Note:**

> in my everlasting quest to finish all my yogfic wips, i bring you this! true to form, i started this nearly a year ago. i am... not good at finishing fics promptly.
> 
> second chapter goes up tomorrow.
> 
> draft title:  
>  _strife has made bad life choices_

Shit, but Strife is so _hungry_.

He can feel the appetite gnawing at him - a bone-deep need sitting in his chest, intensifying with every pulse of the blood magic in the air.

It had been a mistake to come here when he hasn’t fed in what is increasingly beginning to feel like an eternity. His hands shake, his thoughts are jagged, and every time he looks at Parv, he just _aches_ with the hunger.

But Parv had asked him to come and help him with something, and Strife wasn’t going to say no.

Which is why, now, he’s curled up on one of the cult beds. There are healing marks on the heel of his hand where he’s bitten, to try and stave off the bloodlust. When he loses focus, he finds himself rocking - half-sobbing into his dark trousers and thanking the heavens that Parv isn’t in the room.

His thoughts scatter easily in this state, but one thing that pervades them all is a bitter thread of shame. Strife bites at his own palm again and wishes he had more self control.

Like it or not, he can hear Parv moving around in the chamber outside. Strife is hyper-aware of every step Parv takes; the rolling, hungry, predatory part of him metaphorically pricking its ears up with every sound.

God, Strife knows that, however he tries to stave this off, it won’t work. His own blood tastes like an echo of the real thing, and it’s not like he can exactly drink from the blood altar without getting some very pointed questions from Parv.

( _Besides_ , says a thought that he quickly tries to bury, _playing with your food is the best part._ )

He forces himself to breathe slowly, like every anxiety self-help book he’s ever glanced at. It doesn’t really help, obviously, but it was worth a try. At least it gives him something to focus on for a few moments.

In. And out.

In. And out.

In. And out.

Somewhere in the chamber outside, Parv swears. Something clatters to the ground. The smell of blood fills the air more richly than before.

Strife is standing before he knows it - blinking back the sudden clarity from his vision with a muttered curse word. It shouldn’t be any different, he knows it shouldn’t be - the iron tang was already thick in the air, why should Parv be any different?

Strife doesn’t even have to ask himself that question to know the answer: Because it’s _Parv_.

Stupid, wonderful, no-self-control Parvis. And that makes it so much better, and so, so much worse.

He tries to force himself to sit back down and forget about it, but something in his brain refuses. His stomach twists, and he balls his hands into fists to try and distract himself with the pressure of nails digging into skin.

He finds himself taking one step forward, and then another.

He’s barefoot, a detached part of his mind realises, so his steps are almost silent as he pads into the main room.

His nails are probably drawing blood with how hard they’re digging into his palm, but it’s a fruitless effort - his teeth feel needle-sharp in his mouth, and Strife knows, deep in the pit of his stomach, that it was already too late as soon as the hunger started.

Parv is sitting on one of the chests. He’s swinging his legs, and etching something onto a slate. Strife has never seen anything so beautiful, though he can’t quite tell if that’s just because Parv has a pulse and a beating heart.

As Strife takes one slow step forward after another, Parv looks up. He smiles his knife-grin, full of mischief as ever.

“Hey, Strifey. Shouldn’t you be fast asleep, getting some beauty rest?”

Oh, _Parvis_. It’s clear that he expects an answering quip, some friendly camaraderie in the night time. Strife finds himself with... other priorities.

With unsteady steps, Strife drags himself towards Parv. His gaze doesn’t waver - he doesn’t even blink - but his eyes glow with a brighter light than ever.

“Strife?” Oh, Parv sounds concerned now.

No time for answers, though. Strife finds himself gripping Parv’s shoulders, hard, though he’s not quite sure when that happened. All at once, the curve of Parv’s smile turns flat, all sharp edges, and he pulls his gleaming crimson dagger out of his pocket with one hand.

Strife is ahead of him though, and before blade can even think to touch flesh, to pull him back into the heady thrum of the blood altar, there’s a crack. Parv makes a soft pained sound, and his other hand goes up - worming underneath Strife’s and clutching at his broken bone.

Strife pauses for a moment, though the hunger is urging him on to drink, and the last few dregs of his self control are urging him to get it over with. He just… watches Parv, for a moment. He catalogues every mannerism, because this is what Parv looks like when he’s afraid.

And then he pushes Parv up against the wall, and bites into his neck.

And he drinks.

The regret only sets in after the first few mouthfuls, when Parv stops trying to push him away. It’s _almost_ enough to make Strife stop. Almost.

 

It feels like an eternity until Strife’s hunger is fully sated, but Parv doesn’t have that much blood to give, so it must have been shorter.

Parv’s unconscious, though, so it was clearly a _while_. Strife swallows down the last dregs of iron-tang ambrosia that he can stomach, and plans for damage control. As he does.

The broken shoulder, (Strife’s fault), is going to need time to heal. The wound on Parv’s neck, (Strife’s fault), is going to need bandaging, at the very least. Not to think of how Parv will react when he wakes up to the fact that he was randomly attacked in the middle of the night, (Strife’s fault).

He can’t do much for the first or last, but Strife goes and picks up some bandages, and deals with the bite mark on Parv’s neck. Then he picks him up, and goes and puts him carefully in one of the cultist beds.

With a bit of thought, he leaves his atomic disassembler, so Parv knows that he hasn’t left for good.

Then he goes, and sits, and watches the sun rise from the top of the hill.


	2. part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> draft title:  
>  _parv loves his monster boyfriend_

“You’re not bothered by sunlight.” It’s the first thing Parv says, once he’s found Strife at the top of the hill. He sounds more thoughtful than angry, though, which is… confusing.

Strife cocks an eyebrow at him, though, the same as ever. “I would have thought you’d have noticed this before, Parvis.”

Parv gives him what can only be described as a _look_. Then his expression turns more quizzical. He fidgets with one hand, the other still as stone. “Yeah, but you’re a vampire, right?”

“Well, _yes_ ,” Strife says, before he can stop himself. “No prizes for figuring that one out, either.”

He bares sharp, sharp teeth at Parv, and gets the dubious pleasure of watching Parv flinch, just barely. He regains his composure after a brief moment, though, and his expression turns back to that assessing frown.

“Well, vampires aren’t _known_ for liking sunlight,” Parv says, tone a little petulant. “And you’re so vain that I bet you show up in mirrors as well.”

Strife shakes his head in frustration, looking across the water. The sound of waves fills the silence for a moment, before he turns his gaze back to Parv, scowling.

“Look, just get to the _point_ , Parvis.”

“Who said there was a point?” Parv blinks, faux-innocent, and Strife’s scowl deepens.

“Of _course_ there’s a point, you idiot. You’ve got a broken shoulder and some bandages on your neck, why _wouldn’t_ there be a point?”

Parv winces for a moment, which only makes Strife feel worse. His scowl fades, and he looks away again.

“Just tell me to fuck off, if you want to. I’ll get my things and go.” He keeps his gaze straight ahead, ignoring the painful tug on his heartstrings at the idea of never seeing Parv again.

What he doesn’t expect is a bark of laughter from next to him. It takes a moment for Strife to identify the emotion in the sound, and he snaps his gaze right back to Parv.

Parv is looking at him, one part amused and one part incredulous.

“You’re kidding, right?” He shifts a little closer to Strife, as though trying to prove a point. Frankly, it just makes Strife want to show off his fangs again.

He keeps himself reined in, though. No matter what happened last night, he can’t let all of his control go slipping out of his fingers. Instead, he just raises one eyebrow, staring at Parv with dark eyes.

Parv rolls his eyes, laughing again. “Strifey, I know you get caught up in your big bad businessman thing, but seriously?” He’s still laughing as he leans forward and presses his lips to Strife’s.

Strife freezes like a deer in headlights. The predatory instincts in his brain all go silent at once.

Well. Shit.

Parv pulls back, looking far too smug for someone so close to death.

“There. Do you get it?” He _sounds_ far too smug for someone so close to death, too.

Strife takes a few moments to order his thoughts into something coherent, then he shakes his head. Parv pouts, and proceeds to drape himself over Strife’s shoulder.

A soft growl starts up in the back of his throat. Strife ignores it, and so does Parv, which is simultaneously reassuring and infuriating.

“I don’t want to have to make a _speech_ , that’s boring!”

“Yeah, I don’t want to _listen_ to you make a speech, Parvis,” he mutters under his breath, heedless of the way his voice is deepened, distorted, by the territorial sound that he is making unwillingly.

Parv falls quiet, breathing next to Strife’s ear.

“ _What_?” Strife elbows Parv away from him, grateful when the urge to assert his dominance eases, ever so slightly.

Parv is staring at him, cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

There’s a moment’s pause, and then-- “Please don’t tell me you’re attracted to vampires, Parvis, the last twenty four hours have been stressful _enough_.”

Parv, to his credit, seems mildly horrified by the idea, though Strife wonders why _that_ is where he draws the line, morally speaking.

“No!” He shakes his head frantically. “Of course not! Strife-- Will, I’m attracted to _you_!”

Strife would raise his eyebrow, but he can’t exactly feign ignorance - unless he was also going to feign short term memory loss. So he just kind of sits there, open-mouthed, not quite sure what to say to that.

A few moments pass with nothing but eye contact. Then Parv’s gaze shifts, and he blinks. “Your fangs are… out. Yeah, out.”

Strife feels an altogether different sort of shock; he runs his thumb across his top row of teeth and feels sharp edges. “Shit,” he says, though his heart isn’t really in it. So much for not letting control slip out of his fingers.

“How did this… happen?”

“This incident, or the whole vampire thing?” Strife asks drily.

Parv shrugs. The blush has faded from his face now, which makes Strife feel a little more ease.

“Well, I got turned in college,” he says, more confident than he feels. “Around about the time I got mixed up with blood magic. I…” He pauses, swallowing, hoping that Parv will take this for the trust that it is. “I thought it would make me more powerful.”

Parv gets a look on his face like he’s just solved a hard puzzle. Then the comprehension turns to a sharp grin - the type that means he’s just had an idea that will be hard to dissuade him from.

“Did it?”

“No,” Strife snaps. “It just got me mired in a bunch of crap that I couldn’t get out of by myself. Hell, even with help, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Parv opens his mouth again, and Strife scowls at him.

“ _No_ , I’m not going to turn you, or whatever you were going to ask. It’s…” He pauses, trying to figure out an order of words that doesn’t sound soppy. “It’s not all fun and games, Parvis. Hence, why I’ve done my best to be as human as possible since then.”

Parv frowns, but after a moment’s hesitation, he nods. Holy shit, has Strife actually managed to _get through_ to Parvis? Wonders never cease.

“... You don’t mind it, then?” He hates how the question comes out - as desperate as he’s ever sounded without blood magic being involved. “You don’t want me to leave.”

Parv blinks, then smiles. It’s almost guileless.

“Of course not, Strifey! I mean, I would have appreciated a little warning _before_ you decided I was dinner, and _obviously_ I can’t let you carry on pretending like you’re _not_ a bloodthirsty creature of the night, but I don’t want you to leave! Who would teach me blood magic then?”

Strife scowls again, but it’s an affectionate scowl this time. A ‘Parvis, you idiot’ scowl, not a ‘What the _fuck_ , Parv’ scowl.

“The fact that you want to shower me with kisses doesn’t hurt, I imagine.”

Parv flushes again, but his stupid grin doesn’t fade. “Well, if you’re up for it, it’d be a _bonus_. As long as you don’t bite me while it’s happening, okay?”

Strife heaves his patented long-suffering sigh. The tension has eased from his shoulders. He runs his thumb over his teeth again, and finds them blunted. His mouth curves in a smile.

“Come here, Parv.”

Parv looks startled, suddenly, but he shifts closer until he’s leaning against Strife. Strife wraps an arm around his shoulder, holding him close and listening to the steady beat of his pulse.

“The sunlight does sting a little,” he says, to a noise of acknowledgement from Parv, “But I got used to it.”

With the ease of his shoulders and the absence of instinct, Strife thinks he could get used to this too.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, you can find me at screechfoxes on tumblr!


End file.
